The Owls' Story
by Migratory
Summary: The Owls do not choose to serve. They are bound by a compulsion, waiting for the time when they can escape the spell. Some believe that time is close.
1. Prophecies

As the full moon rose the owls became nervous. Professor Dumbledore had had the courtesy to inform them of the werewolf, and reassure them of their safety, but they were still chained to perches and unable to escape.

It was a difficult time for them. For years they had been waiting for a sign, and now some believed it had arrived. Those who had taken to praying now increased the volume and frequency, calling to their brothers to join them in waiting for the prophet. Others screeched their condemnation loudly, rejecting the idea of a human saviour. Owls, they claimed, would make their own freedom, and raise their own prophet.

Hedwig was undecided, but knew she would have to choose before long. Already there was a divide in the owlery, and on returning from deliveries the devout would fly to one end of the room to be chained, and the cynics to the other. From her position near the middle Hedwig could hear the sermons of both, and she felt most aligned with the cynics. They already viewed her as one of their own, because her master had so much to fear from the supposed prophet.

Sirius Black, the Dog Man, was a symbol to the owls. They had seen him escape from the castle on the back of a creature with wings, and there were those who said that this was a sign that they were near to the end of the compulsion that forced them to serve the humans. Perhaps, they said, he would be the one to uncast the spell that had held them for over a thousand years, or perhaps he was the herald of another. Either way, they said, now was not the time to be a Bad Owl. Now was the time to pray, to reassure each other and, above all, to remember what it meant to be an Owl.

_To be an Owl is to have pride, to keep in mind as you fly that your nature is to kill and to soar and to hoot.  
__An Owl may be enslaved by magic, but it would never choose to serve._

_A true Owl would kill its master if it could._


	2. The Betrayal

'How come the owls do what we tell them?'  
'They've got to. It's a spell.'  
'Pretty powerful one, to have lasted all these years.'  
'It should be – Merlin cast it. '

_Listen to me, and I will tell the first part of the Story of the Owls, the tale of our capture. In the time before our slavery we had no story. Each owl had his owl tale, true - the tale of a free life - but there was no need for the species to have one. We are not cattle that trade dignity for the safety of a herd. We fly alone._

_The Story of the Owls began the moment we were trapped – when we began to suffer together. You may reason from this then, child, that our story will end when we are once again individual birds, making our own choices with no regard for our brothers._

_How were we caught? We were tricked, my daughter._

(the elder of the owls paused here for a moment, crooning sadly)

_When we were free we were lone birds, true, but we were also connected to each other. We have a sense now that allows us to locate humans, but it is a shadow – a parody – of the sense we once had. We never had need of a name for it, but now we have lost it we call it the Owl Spirit. It was the part of our mind that connected us to every other owl, that allowed us to locate each other, to share emotion or instinct, perhaps even conscious information._

_It meant that in some small sense, every owl carried a part of the True Owl, that in a way every owl_ was _the true owl - the same bird. And it also meant that if a bird gave up his right to be an owl by allowing a human into his mind, that human could reach all of them._

(the young owl ruffled her feathers slightly, listening in silence)

_They say it was a terrible winter and the owl was starving when the wizard found him. The wizard kept him alive and warm with magic, but declined to feed him until he allowed the wizard access into his mind. The wizard swore on the glowing cup in his hand he would do no harm, and though this seemed like a poor thing to swear upon, the wizard added that it had important magical abilities. Whether the owl believed him or not is a source of speculation, but he agreed, and took the rat he had been offered._

_The wizard entered his mind, and cast a spell on the Owl Spirit. You and I were born with magical abilities given to us by the wizards, but in those days owls had no natural magic and had never been attacked in this way before – they didn't know how to fight._

_The cup dulled, of course, under the strength of the broken oath, but the wizard did not stop his wickedness. He placed the owls under a compulsion to serve the users of magic, charging them to obey their orders to the best of their abilities, never harming humans or their property. He withdrew from their minds, and as he left gave the first order - then closed that part of the mind containing the Owl Spirit. It is still in our heads, but we are unable to reach it. The True Owl does not, at the moment, exist._

_Instead the owls obeyed their order – they flew to him. He gave them the power we possess today – the ability to locate humans – and sent them across the country to find the users of magic and begin their long service._

_He bound us all, my child, and it cost him a rat and a cup._


	3. An Interlude

_Interlude – the voice from Azkaban_

Let me ask you a question.  
If you had to hide a great treasure, how would you do it?  
Bury it? Lock it away? Give it to a friend to guard?  
In my time, I have held many treasures. Most of them I held on behalf of other people, to help them with their own stories. The greatest of those stories was Arthur's.

But when he died, the vultures began to move. People who sought his treasures for their own purposes. I kept them safe for many years – my power was strong then, and my opponents' magic usually patchy. In those days magic was taught individually, by word of mouth, and so pupils could usually learn only as much as their master knew. I grew more powerful by dealing with the supernatural, but that was not a route I expected others to take.

Still, I have never claimed to be infallible, and magical power is not a guard against every form of attack. At the heart of all my magic was a human, who could be outwitted, out manoeuvred. The treasures needed more protection than one wizard in a cave.

I guarded them until finally better protection was built. Two witches and two wizards were contemplating building a school. A place where magic could be taught in a structured form, knowledge could be preserved and individual witches and wizards protected and hidden. They consulted me, of course. Arthur was long dead and I no longer had the same influence over royalty, but amongst wizards I was still a formidable name. As they built the school I had time alone with each of them, and I had time to tell two of them of my treasures.

Godric agreed to take Excaliber. I often wonder what would make him choose it over the second treasure though. The sword undoubtedly had power, but Arthur only ever saw it as a means to an end, a useful tool. Godric apparently saw it as a treasure worth having for itself. I still wonder who was right.

But to Arthur, and indeed to myself, it was the second treasure that was worth having and when Helga saw it, she recognised it for what it was. I couldn't give the cup to her with it's power unchained – it would be too dangerous.

So I made an oath upon it, and broke the oath. You must understand that the power of the cup was anchored in goodness, and breaking an oath upon that power offended the cup, as I knew it would. The glowing light that had emitted from it for as long as I had known it faded, and its power receded, locked away somewhere unreachable.

I added some small enchantments upon the cup, powers that would be of use to Helga, but the true powers were now, I was sure, unreachable. She understood, and all her life she kept the secret of the cup, and let people believe it was just a pretty cup with interesting powers.

The oath itself had another function. It involved binding the owls to the service of wizards, carrying their messages and obeying their commands. That was my official present to Hogwarts upon its opening, and over a thousand years later it still holds true.

The owls still serve us. Even locked deep in Azkaban, I have the power to know that. That is how I know the oath remains broken, and the power of the Grail is still trapped.


	4. Remus Speaks

We don't say words like torture, of course. We're the good guys.

But we don't question certain things too closely, either. If Moody happened to catch a Death Eater and find out certain things from him, we don't comment upon the gap between catching someone and finding out his secrets. This is war, of a sort, and we're a raggedy bunch of soldiers, and looking too closely at each other might remind us of our own shabby behaviour.  
I myself remain grateful that things remain unsaid, that no one has pressed me to find out exactly what happened with the werewolves. What I had to do, what I had to eat, to persuade them we shared a nature.  
But we still persist in believing ourselves to be on the side of right, and when Moody told us about the prisoners we had to act.  
The Death Eaters had released their followers from Azkaban and been joined by the dementors. We all knew it, it was in the Prophet, and yet we failed to consider what should have been obvious to more competent good guys – that not everyone in Azkaban was a Death Eater.

* * *

We got there too late for the mortals, of course. They'd starved to death. 

I have no words to describe that endless day of opening doors, knowing what would be behind them but also knowing we had to check. Azkaban goes deep, and has hidden corridors that twist, and even today I fear that we missed cells.  
There were rats, of course. There are always rats in such places, even surrounded by water, and they had multiplied in the circumstances. There were owls, too, in those places accessible by windows, glaring at us.

And there was a man.

We almost missed him – even when we opened his cell he didn't cry out – but we saw movement and this time it wasn't rats. He struggled to get up and we ran to help him, but he seemed almost unable to speak, although he cried out in fright as we carried him out of the prison. I didn't know what it was that frightened him most – although now I think it was perhaps the owls - but we did out best to reassure him. Tonks apparated to shore to hire a boat for him – he would have been too weak to leave any other way – leaving the rest of us to comfort him, and resist asking the obvious questions. It didn't matter _how_ he was alive – it was enough that he simply was.

We gave him a small amount of bread, not wanting to make him ill, and gradually he seemed to calm enough for us to risk asking him who he was.  
His voice, when he answered, was hoarse and quiet, but we understood what he said.  
Of all names, it was one we'd recognise.  
"Merlin."


	5. The Owls

The death of the Dog Man was a sign, said some Owls.  
The retrieval of the cup was a sign.  
The release of the betrayer was a sign and an insult.

Never had Owls fought so hard against magic as the day they saw Merlin leave the prison. Each wanted to be the owl that killed him, each fought against muscles that refused to strike, until the moment had passed and the man was out of sight.

But, said older owls, perhaps other forces are at work. The man was the one to lay the compulsion upon them – might he also remove it?

They watched him. The Owls made sure that the wizard was always aware of them, always able to see one watching, glaring. They could not hurt him, but they had no need to when leaving feathers at his windowsill so clearly terrified him. He knew what he had done.

Sometimes hundreds of them would sit in the garden, waiting for him to wake and see them, and he would open his curtains and cry out in fright when he saw them.

Then the day came when he walked into the garden and asked if they might talk.


	6. Remus Again

I was the one who found Merlin in the garden, collapsed on the grass and surrounded by owls. Owls know what I am and will not usually tolerate my presence, but this time they did not scatter at my approach. They remained perched where they were, staring at the old man.

For a moment, remembering his terror of them, I feared they had killed him. As I approached, though, I saw that there was no blood, that his clothes were untorn and that he did not look distressed. Indeed, if anything, he looked peaceful. As I knelt down beside him he smiled, and whispered, 'it's done.'  
'What?' I asked, but he could give me no answer, merely closing his eyes. I carried him inside, and was only half surprised when an owl flew in ahead of me and perched on the sofa. Apparently they wanted to keep an eye on him, or me, or everyone.

When Merlin could speak again he told me something of the pact he'd made with the owls. 'The Grail,' he said, 'must be a secret. Not even your friends must know what it really is.' He looked closely at me, and half-shook his head. 'I'm not sure I would have chosen you to carry this burden,' he said, 'but I've lived long enough to know when the universe is giving me a hint. Can you keep it safe, Mr Wolf?'

Could I keep the Grail safe? The ultimate symbol of power, the key to immortality? 'I don't know,' I admitted.

Merlin shrugged one stiff shoulder. 'Thought not. Well, we've got a choice – either I keep hold of it and kill you to stop you telling anyone, or you have a go at protecting it. Which sounds better?'

I smiled, but not too much. Old as he was, this man had once been the most powerful wizard ever. It seemed unlikely that I would be able to stand against him if he chose to destroy me. 'I'd have to say, the option in which I remain alive sounds better.' I laughed. 'But would that mean I have to kill you?'

'No need,' said Merlin. The Grail can only support one immortal at a time. Once you drink it'll stop protecting me.'

All smiles left me, and I felt something close to horror. 'You mean, you'll die? That's what's kept you alive all these years?'

'What did you think was doing it? Exercise and clean living?' He shook his head in what looked like amazement, and spoke in a tone that implied I was an idiot. 'I drank from the cup, which sealed the charm. It doesn't matter that it's broken since – it was intact when the charm was made, and the spell will remain unbroken until it is cast on someone else.'

'Me?'

'Yes. But we have to fix the Grail first, of course, so the spell can be recast.'

'Why would you want it recast?'

'Do you know how old I am?'

'No.'

'Neither do I. The people I loved died centuries ago, and the people of your era locked me away when they found out who I was. I want some peace, and I want to leave behind a good man to continue with the fight.'

'And you think that's me?'

'Like I said, I might not have chosen you, but apparently the universe has. And you seem to have something of the right spirit – you have weaknesses, but it seems unlikely that you will turn to darkness. Essentially, you are kind.'

I stared at the floor, wondering if any of this could be true. 'You know,' I said, 'I'm in love, shortly to marry. If I become immortal...' I stopped.

'You'll lose her, yes,' he said casually.'Unless you pass the Grail on, which is always an option if you find someone worthy. The owls tell me there may be a child, in which case you may wish to raise him to protect the Grail. Passing it through a family line might perhaps be a better way than mine.' He looked sad for a moment. 'Indeed, if I had been granted a child I would perhaps have done the same. You are fortunate to have the choice – to keep the protection for yourself, or to pass it to your child.'

'I'll give it to the child, of course,' I said too quickly. 'That is, if we have one,' I corrected myself. 'Which is by no means certain.'

He laughed, sounding like any other old man in a pub. 'Of course it isn't,' he wheezed. 'And that's got nothing to do with why you're getting married in such a hurry.'

All I could do was grin sheepishly and stay quiet.


	7. A Good Man

As I told the werewolf, he wasn't the person I'd have chosen to carry the cup. At first it seemed my suspicions were confirmed – his clumsy attempt to accompany the Potter boy on his search was always going to end in failure. But he showed a degree of wisdom in the following weeks, as he acquired some patience and set to learning all he could about the Grail. Partly from books, but most of all from me.

The boy found the cup, of course. You know that, by now, and you must know part of what came next, for word travels quickly in our world. That alone should tell you something – word travels quickly because the owls still deliver our post. They are still enslaved. For now.

The call to Hogwarts came late one night, but the Order were ready. I am not one to get overly fond of people – centuries of life leave you rather indifferent to mortals – but I did feel a small amount of sadness for them. They were, after all, my rescuers, and they had nursed me kindly while my strength returned. It seemed harsh that they were about to be killed – and it was fairly certain that they were. I dislike speaking ill of the dead, but they were not the experienced warriors I had known in the past. They were soft creatures, clerks and teachers most of them.

I took the wolf aside for a brief moment before he left. The Grail, I told him, must be his priority during the battle. He needed to find it, to keep it safe.

He nodded and swore he understood, with a look of sincerity on his face couldn't didn't mask the concern underneath. Right then, I could see that we would fail.

When I originally said I wouldn't have chosen him, he thought I meant that he didn't have the type of strength needed to carry the Grail. He was right, but I wasn't talking about moral strength - he had plenty of that. What I really meant was that he didn't have the degree of callousness that would allow him to abandon people who would obstruct him in his search. King Arthur had it – he left his wife, his people, his responsibilities behind for years while he searched. I have it – I enslaved the owls to keep the Grail safe, and I left behind everyone who ever loved me when I stepped onto the path of immortality. The werewolf, however, didn't. He was a better man than any of us, which is why he failed. Perhaps you need to be fully human in order to commit the worse sins.

He could have had immortality, but he saw suffering so he stayed to help. And, in the grand tradition of heroic gestures, he died in the process.  
Without him, The Grail was destroyed. After two thousand years, the cup that caught Christ's blood, restored Camelot and held the toast at the first Hogwarts banquet is gone.

The world today is a little darker. The battle was won, but battles are won and lost every day. There are many battles, many heroes and villains, many atrocities and acts of valour. But there was only one Holy Grail in the whole of history, one symbol of purity to comfort humanity.

And yet, hope remains. There is perhaps a chance that some of the wickedness of recent years may be undone, and that I may begin to make amend for the wrongs I have done. Once more, I must gather my courage and speak to the owls.


	8. A Bewitching Dream

_Four years ago, my child, I was as young as you are now. The wolf wandered through the castle, the dog-man escaped on borrowed wings, and we dreamed of prophets._

_And I sat as you do, listening to the Story of the Owls._

_And the elder told me, as I tell you, that the story will end with freedom._

(The elderly owl shuffled on her perch, trying to ease the ache in her left shoulder.)

_Some say that I have a gift of prophecy, which is foolish. I merely observe. But if I am to make predictions, mark this one. We will be free by sundown._

**

Sacrifice has always held special power. It was the ultimate sacrifice, of course, which gave the Grail its magic. You could say that I've lived on sacrifice ever since I drank from it. I've certainly been the voice in the ear of more than a few good men whose willing deaths led to strategic advantage. In Azkaban I had many years to reflect on them.

Which is why I can't really condemn the wolf, the boy, the old man. I think they were fools, but I've used such foolishness to my advantage many times. And now, finally, I seem to be on the other side of the argument.

I've worked it out, you see.  
If I release the owls from the contract, the power of the Grail should be released also. If I have a vessel to hand I may be able to channel that power to the cup. It was drinking from the Grail that granted me immortality, and so the power with in me should give me an affinity to all the power of the Grail.  
It might work. The theory is sound, at the very least.

I have spoken to the owls, and we have made a simpler bargain – they will not harm humans. They can have their freedom, but not their revenge. They agreed, save for one point. Me. That is why I fear to break the vow, although I know I must if the world is to see its Grail again. Freed from their compulsion, the owls will surely tear me to pieces. Immortal as I am, I do not even know if this would kill me. I cannot imagine the pain of lying in pieces, still aware of the world and the shrieking complaints of limbs no longer attached.

I have left a letter behind in case my fears come to pass and the owls attack. It explains the significance of this new cup to the remains of the Phoenix clan, and begs one of them to drink from it and release me from endless life. I have reason to hope that they will fulfil my second request - that it is returned to the school - though of course power tempts even the best of us. I must say, with regret, that I think they will be better masters than I was. Perhaps the coming pain will bring a degree of absolution for my past sins.

Living forever is a bewitching dream, but I think I can finally bear to wake.


	9. Ending the Story

An hour from sundown, and the owls were everywhere now. Every fence, tree and rooftop that afforded a view of the garden was covered with owls. Even the grass was littered with brown and white birds, watching the man at the centre of the lawn. He flinched every time one moved towards him, and his hands shook until he pushed them into his pockets.

He took a series of deep breaths, and then knelt down to speak to a large tawny owl perched on a birdbath.

**

_The bargain, _the owls were murmuring. _They're breaking it!_

Talons tensed and owls readied their beaks to tear flesh from the living traitor. _We're nearly free._

_Remember, my daughter_, said the owl some called prophet, _about the Story. It ends when they break the contract.  
__It ends with freedom._

**

The man put out his hand, which was visibly trembling, and gently clasped the owl's wing. The smallest of shakes, almost invisible, was enough to shatter the magic. Muscles that for centuries had been paralysed in their attempts to strike suddenly found movement, and the owls launched themselves at the man as momentum carried them forwards.

For a moment. Not even a second. But long enough for the man to scream, and the birds instinctively changed course, shying away from the sound.

The owls were no longer a group with a purpose. They were many, many individual birds, without any interest in each others welfare or in the scrawny man before them. Certainly they were not the type of creatures who coordinated attacks.

It would no longer be possible to identify the owl that some called prophet, but she was somewhere in the wheeling crowd, already vaguely thinking about food inasmuch as she could think about anything. The Story of the Owls would have meant nothing to her. She was her own owl, and she flew alone.

And standing alone on the lawn was the man, clutching a small goblet. A witness, had there been one, might have noticed a faint glow surrounding it.

* * *

Thanks and credit are owed to JK Rowling, obviously. Also to ferretbrain dot com, who have a lot of interesting Harry Potter articles which made me look at the series differently and inevitably influenced this story. Also I was reading their DH runthrough when it occurred to me I should get into gear and finish this piece. And while I'm thanking I may as well mention the Sam Neil TV version of Merlin, which remains my major influence when it comes to Arthurian lore.


End file.
